


Claire de Lune

by NajikaSun



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NajikaSun/pseuds/NajikaSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Professor mourns his lost love in an empty theater at Gressenheller University.  Descriptive short story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claire de Lune

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Claire de Lune](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/78854) by NajikaSun. 



> This is a few years old, but it has been edited to fit my current writing style. It is also on Fanfiction.net, but I am planning on moving my works to AO3. Enjoy!

It was a full moon tonight, and the small college was an entirely different universe when not so bustling with students and staff. The long, thin grass rippled in yellow-green waves to the systematic pulsing of the wind outside the windows, while the darkened hallways loomed on for much longer than they do by day. Only one last light shone through the darkened campus. There was someone still there, in the music hall; someone was echoing out a somber tune.

There he sat. The grand piano stood alone on the stage that was so obviously meant for more, its only company being the lone professor and his loose sheet music. There were no stage-lights shining down upon him; there was only a single red rose on the piano’s closed lid. The vivid red petals, contrasting the several tall, white candles, were positioned across the sleek black surface of the piano, creating a wonderful ambiance that wrapped the duet of the piano and its temporary master in a cloak of isolation and emptiness.

The quiet chords and triads were echoing across the dark room, the sounds reverberating, reflecting off the high, glass ceiling. Sparkling shimmers from the moon and the stars were shining down upon the two of them, Heaven’s own limelight embraced the sad duo as they tapped out a simple-sounding melody. But despite the perfect setting, he could not perform the song as he so wished he could. The tune flew through the gears of his mind and into the smoldering recesses of his heart, but his shaky fingertips lacked the experience they needed.

He promised that he would play this piece for her. She was supposed to be his audience, to listen and to clap and to flash him her beautiful smile whenever he paused to look upon the sea of empty chairs. He mourned her joy and engraved her smile into his mind; using every ounce of his strength to prevent her everlasting happiness from flooding into him again, once more. The theater was empty tonight.

There had been an accident that morning on campus. She was a scientist, working her way up the ladder to reach the title of "Professor," like the man who scraped out a tune to her memory here and now. She whispered him her daily “good-bye” and drove to work, doing what she enjoyed more than anything - creating new hope for the world through modern-day science and its technology. But although she progressed as each day passed, nothing could have prepared her for "The Accident."

"The Accident," they all called it. He found that ironic. Nothing was sheer accident anymore, he thought. She was chosen by her fellow scientists to be a test subject for a new experiment, incomplete at the time but desperately needing a test run. Her smile must have blinded the researchers. Immediately after setting it off, there was a sudden explosion of fire and molten metal and her body was turned to ash. Enveloped in black smoke, she flew away in the autumn breeze alongside ten others, and nothing of hers was found. She was to be remembered as "a scientist most dedicated to her work." Unfortunately, dedication consumed her body and left nary a trace. The machine was destroyed, eleven lives were cut short, and nobody he knew took this to heart as much as he did.

She desired more than anything to improve the lives of those who encountered great sadness and depression in their days; to recreate lost happiness through miracles she knew that the future held. And this, she did for one man, through not science, but through undying and faithful love. The man missed her desperately. He sat alone in the theater without an audience, dreaming of her through tired eyes. His hands shook as they hovered across the keys and finally, they lost the strength to press down anymore. He took in a sharp breath and slammed both palms into the black and white ivory, booming out a bitter tone that hovered thickly through the air for several minutes. The impact shook the piano, the contents of its lid toppling down onto the stage floor with hollow thuds against the smooth surface.

He simply stood in front of the piano for a few moments after the bitter notes all dissipated. Composure and posture both failing him as the death of his fiancée threw itself at him like a wrecking ball into an abandoned structure, he stretched out a trembling hand and lifted the rose up off the ground and placed it back upon the lid as if it were made of glass. The candles went out during their descent. The room smelled of smoke, and then there was a flicker of light, and a crackle of fire.

A single candle had rolled towards the flimsy curtains that were thinned with age and wear, and before his foggy mind could register his situation, half the perimeter of the stage was engulfed in crackling flames.

He stared dumbly up at the bright orange glow, much too distracted by reminiscence to do much else but watch this scene play out. He thought nothing of the pinpoints of heat stinging his face or of the flammability of the room around him. His thoughts only lingered on his fiancée's unfortunate and unfair fate. The flames were enclosing themselves around him and beginning to gnaw at the backstage area, and he wondered if this was simply a dream. He sat back down again and stared at the keys. If it were just a dream, he could play her song. He stopped shaking. His eyes focused on the pages in front of him. They were better illuminated by the curtain set ablaze than by flimsy, flickering candlelight anyway.

He played better than he had ever done before and he smiled. The air was thinning, so he took slower breaths. Through the light and the heat, he thought he saw her, sitting next to him on the bench, playing out a gorgeous harmony on the base keys and laughing next to him. He turned to look at her, sweat beading upon his brow and upper lip, disguising the tears on his cheeks. He placed his left hand over the illusion of hers and he played on, her left hand guiding him forward, deeper into darkness, away from the flames and towards her smiling face. His mind drew a blank and his skin was numb to the fire. And as he burned, he used his last breaths to laugh again.

The only remains of the fire that were found intact were two pages of the man’s sheet music. The title page was found later, and it read “Claire de Lune,” and the ‘e’ at the end of ‘Claire’ was written in his own handwriting. No one recognized it.


End file.
